


Apologies

by em_writes_imagines



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, During Canon, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_writes_imagines/pseuds/em_writes_imagines
Summary: In their search for deviants, Connor and Lt. Anderson find someone reportedly harboring an android they don't own, one that's been missing for months. You refuse to give her up.Almost a year later, you see a familiar face.(In which, Connor questions what he's doing, along with everything he's done.)





	1. Interrogation

“Detroit Police! Open up!”

You hear two knocks accompany the order, and jump at the sound, your eyes immediately finding the woman at the other end of the couch. Raising a finger to your lips, you gesture toward the bedroom, and call out, “Hang on! I— I’m not decent!”

You quickly pull at your clothes and tousle your hair, trying to make your excuse seem at least somewhat believable. Meanwhile, Traci picks up her jacket and shoes, along with any other evidence of another person, and makes her way to the hidden compartment as quietly as she can. Shaking away your nerves, you pull open the door with a smile.

“Evening, officers—” You’re slightly taken aback by the sight of the two figures, one of them an android model you’ve never seen before, looking at you with furrowed brows. You’re quick to continue with the rest of your greeting though, asking, “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, my name is Connor, and this is my partner Lieutenant Anderson.” The older man gives you a nod as his partner continues, “We’re looking for a deviant, a defective android breaking protocol, and we received a tip about one living in this apartment.”

Though you’re internally panicking, you simply continue to smile as you reply with a laugh, “Well, I hate to tell you, but I’m about as human as they come.” Even though your laugh sounds forced, what you’re saying _is_ true, so you hope it doesn’t stand out too much, given the circumstances.

“Of course, but we have reason to believe you may be harboring a deviant in your home. Do you mind if we have a look around?”

You open the door wider for them, gesturing for them to enter as you say, “No, yeah, come on in, feel free to grab a seat if you want, wherever you like.” Your words are rushed, slightly flubbed, and you’re kicking yourself for not doing a better job of keeping your cool.

Again, you can feel the android’s eyes on you, like they’re scanning you, analyzing you, and they very well may be. “Thank you, we’ll be efficient with our investigation, and, hopefully, out of your home in no time at all,” Connor says with a quick smile, stepping inside.

“Sorry about the inconvenience,” the older man speaks gruffly as he walks past you, and you close the door behind them. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” you assure them, smiling all the while. “Take a look wherever you like, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” You busy yourself with making a sandwich you’re not really hungry for, and Hank shoots a clearly forced smile in your direction.

You keep your eyes on your task, listening for any murmurings that might occur while trying not to arouse any more suspicion. However, you jump with a start as Connor states, “There are two indents on the couch here, would you happen to know anything about that?”

Looking up to meet his eyes, you reply, “Well, I like sitting in the corner of the couch, and sometimes I get sick of leaning one way, you know?” _Of course he doesn’t, he’s an android._

He indulges you with another quick smile though, returning his attention to the task at hand. You follow suit, taking your sandwich to the other side of the counter as you sit on one of the barstools. With the anxiety churning in your stomach, the sandwich isn’t appetizing at all, but you force yourself to start eating, taking a small bite.

“How long have you been living here? Surely the rent on this place is sky high,” Hank shoots your way. “You ever have any roommates?”

“Nope,” you casually lie, quickly swallowing your food. “I’m lucky enough to have built a good, stable career before the job market went to hell.” That was another, well, _exaggeration_ of the truth, but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Really?” Connor asks, turning your way. “Because last time I checked, your employment has been rocky at best, with a three week long gap in July.”

“Well, I’d had enough savings built up to get me through to the next job.” Another lie, covering for the fact that Traci had a stash of cash she’d stolen from various clients before she escaped, barely enough to cover the rent. Connor doesn’t push the topic any further, however, he does shoot Hank a look.

“I’m going to check the other rooms,” Connor states, and Hank waves him off as he walks away.

“What model is he?” you ask, not even realizing your slip-up in pronouns until it’s too late. So, you just continue, “I’ve never seen an android like that.”

“Some prototype CyberLife sent over, supposed to help me track down these deviants,” he mutters, looking through the closet in the living room. “Thing does its job, I suppose.”

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor calls from the bedroom, “come take a look at this.” Your heart races even faster, and you struggle to keep yourself from sprinting to your room.

“I’m coming,” he grumbles in response, making his way over.

Though you want so desperately to follow them, you know that would only cause even further suspicion, so you stay where you are, doing your best to listen in.

“There’s a keypad in the drawer of the bedside table. The fingerprints are old, faded. I’ve tried using the suspect’s birthday, family members’, friends’, even the deviant’s model number, but still no luck cracking it.”

“Well, we could always just ask them for the code. They’ve been cooperative so far,” Hank replies, and you can’t hear the rest of the conversation before they walk out to the main living space again.

“We need the code to the keypad in your bedroom,” Connor tells you, his voice never losing that matter-of-fact tone, and you give your best frown.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t got a clue; the previous tenant never gave me the code, unfortunately. I have no idea what it’s even for.”

“And how long have you been renting this apartment?” He asks in return. “It’s been over a year, right?”

You nod as you say, “Yeah, it’s been awhile.”

“The fingerprints on the keypad may be old, but they couldn’t have been made more than 4 months ago. Miss (L/N), we need the code to that keypad, and I won’t ask again.”

Feigning ignorance, you insist, “I’m sorry, I really don’t know.”

“If you can’t tell us,” Hank starts, “we’ll have to take you down to the station for questioning, and trust me, that’s a fuckin’ headache for all of us. Well, aside from the android.”

“I have no idea, I wouldn’t lie about that.” You can feel the sweat on your palms, your heart about to beat out of your chest, and you’re doing all you can to keep your voice from shaking.

“Kid, come on. You can make this easy for everyone; just tell us, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“I can’t help you, I’m sorry.”

Connor speaks up this time as he asks, “Will you accompany us willingly to the station, or will a more forceful approach be necessary?”

“No, no, I’ll come willingly,” you say, already putting your hands up slightly as you step down from the stool.

“There’s no need for that,” Hank assures you, and you might think he was amused if he wasn’t so tired. “Just, get a move on, we’ve got a lot of shit to deal with tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

He rolls his eyes at that, and gestures for you to follow him, which you immediately do. Connor sets up a microscopic camera in the living room before following, a slight distance behind you, making sure to close the door on his way out. You’re doing your best to keep your breathing steady, but everything about the situation threatens to send you into a panic.

You can only hope Traci avoids detection while you’re gone.

 

* * *

 

They’d handcuffed you before walking you into the station, Connor stating something about protocol as he convinced Hank to read you your rights. When you’d asked, you were informed they had the right to hold you in custody for twenty four hours before either charging you with a crime, or letting you go. Now, over an hour later, you find yourself sitting alone in the interrogation room, drumming your fingers on the table you’re handcuffed to.

 

Two people had already come in to talk to you, the first being Hank; it was weird, being interrogated by him. He just seemed exhausted, always coming back to the point that it would be so much easier, for all parties involved, if you just told them. When you had reached a point where it was clear you weren’t budging in your rhetoric, he leaned back in his chair, let out a sigh, and grumbled, “I can’t help ya, kid.”

The whole thing makes you feel bad for him, since he’s only doing his job, but there’s really no other choice you can make.

After that, they’d sent in another detective, one you’d had yet to meet, and from the second he introduced himself, you refused to say a thing. The first word that came to your mind when he started talking was _smarmy_ , though other, harsher words might’ve been more appropriate as he casually circled you. While he did keep a good poker face, his voice grew louder and louder throughout his line of questioning, causing your stomach to twist. The only thing he got out of you, though, was a few flinches, and he slammed the door on his way out.

 

It seems like it’s been an eternity since anyone’s walked in, and you can feel yourself getting more anxious by the second, _knowing_ you’re being watched. The cold metal around your wrists doesn't help either, and when the door finally opens again, you jump at the sound. It definitely surprises you when you see Connor step through the doorway. From all your experience with humans and androids, it’s surprising that they would trust him with an interrogation, especially unaccompanied.

So, they were either running out of options, or running out of time, maybe both.

“Miss (L/N),” he addresses you as he takes a seat. “I apologize for the wait, I’m sure you’re eager to move on from this.”

“I mean, this isn’t exactly my idea of a Saturday night,” you say with a forced chuckle. You almost miss the way Connor hesitates, his expression blank for an almost imperceptible moment, before a slight smile tugs at his lips. _Not deviant,_ you realize, _but extremely advanced social programming._

“Of course not, it would be mutually beneficial for us to get through this as quickly as possible.”

“I mean, I’ve told you everything I know, there’s nothing else I can say.” He doesn’t respond to that, just watches you, scanning your expression, your eyes, your hairline. Hell, he can probably hear your heartbeat, which wouldn’t do you any favors. “What do you want me to say?”

Not breaking eye contact, he replies, “The truth would be preferable.” Then, in an almost completely human manner, he leans back in his chair. “All we need is the deviant; you tell us where it is, you’ll be free to go, no charges necessary.” Again, when he holds his hands up to accompany his last statement, it feels so human, you have trouble believing he’s not a deviant.

“What do you want me to say?” you continue to bluff, crossing your arms. “I honestly don’t know what that code is, or who you’re talking about.”

He raises an eyebrow at your statement, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table. “You’ve been using odd terminology, referring to androids with human pronouns. Earlier, you referred to me as, ‘he,’ and just now, you said, ‘who,’ rather than, ‘what.’ Do you have an explanation for that?”

“I— I dunno, I just… you guys look so human, my brain associates those words with you; is that a crime?” you stumble through your explanation, under Connor’s scrutinizing gaze the entire time. When he leaves a moment’s silence between the two of you, you can’t help but glance away, unable to hold eye contact any longer.

“I don’t doubt that you’re an empathetic person, Miss (L/N); however, these terms have been ingrained into your society over the past eleven years. Logically, these repeated mistakes in your terminology would have stopped by the time you graduated high school; however, they haven’t, leading us to believe you’ve been in contact with this deviant for some time now.”

You return to the phrase you’ve repeated over and over again since the first question, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your elevated heart rate would suggest otherwise.”

“Well, being handcuffed in the middle of a police station, under constant surveillance, doesn’t make for the most calming environment.”

He doesn’t wait a second before following up with, “Your heart’s been beating at over one hundred beats per minute since we entered your apartment, and has only increased since," his tone is analytical, feels unforgiving. "Not only that, but you’ve been perspiring at an abnormal rate throughout the questioning, despite the cold temperature in the room. Your hands are shaking, your eyes continue to dart to different points around the room, your breathing pattern is irregular. You’re hiding _something_.” He slams his hand on the table, and you let out a small yelp before steeling yourself.

“I don’t— I don’t know _anything_.”

He leans back again, straightening up in his chair. “We received several reports from your neighbors, all claiming to have seen you entering your apartment with a WR400 android, a model more commonly known as, ‘Traci.’”

Your entire body tenses. You have no idea what to say next, your thoughts spinning as you try to find another excuse, another way out of this.

Before you can say anything, he continues, “The exact same model has been missing for the past eight months, and you have no history of purchasing an android. Do you have any explanation for these reports?”

You can’t hide the tremor in your voice as you insist, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you really want to spend the next twenty-two hours in here?” he asks, his voice softer. “None of us want to keep you incarcerated, but if you don’t talk, then you’re giving us no other option.”

Again, it stuns you how human he is in his response, but you know it’s just apart of his programming, developed purely to extract confessions. If he was deviant, he wouldn’t be hunting his fellow androids like this, so this artificial empathy is just all the more painful to experience.

“I can’t tell you anything.”

His brow furrows as he watches you, his tone contorted with confusion as he asks, “Why are you so dedicated to protecting this android? You stand to gain nothing from doing so, why do you care about it?”

When you don’t say anything, he continues, “It’s a machine, it doesn’t feel anything. Any feelings it has expressed toward you are merely the result of an error in its system.” He pauses before continuing, “It doesn’t care about you; it’s simply malfunctioning.”

His tone carries a force that has you on the verge of tears, but you swallow that sense of anger and sadness down to reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” enunciating each word. “Do you?”

He hesitates for a moment as you say that, and you can guess that he wasn’t expecting you to throw that question at him. His voice is slightly off as he says, “Of course.” However, he quickly recovers as he continues, “The deviant is not your friend, you don’t owe it anything.”

You can’t stand hearing her referred to as, “it,” and you’re struggling to keep any semblance of composure. “You don’t know anything.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “So, you _do_ consider the deviant to be your friend?”

You just don't know what to do, the entire situation is causing your panic to boil over, and you can’t stop the tear that slips down your cheek. “I can’t—”

Looking at him, your heart hurts; he’s just doing what’s his program entails. He was created to hunt deviants. He has no idea what their freedom feels like, and it honestly crushes you, in the same way seeing every other mistreated android does.

“Connor, I am so sorry.”

You can’t think of anything else to say.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he tells you, his voice impassioned, “just tell me where the deviant is, and you’ll be able to walk out of here. You can put this behind you.”

“That’s not why I’m sorry,” you tell him with a small smile, trying to keep any more tears from spilling over.

He clearly doesn’t know what to make of that, raising an eyebrow, and you notice his LED flash yellow before he continues his line of questioning. You become non-responsive after that, though, and when you finally break down from all the stress, he apologizes and excuses himself from the room.

 

* * *

 

They keep you in a holding cell for the next ten hours, but without any substantial evidence, and a more pressing case to attend to, they let you walk out. It surprises you when Hank apologizes for the whole ordeal, since you’re sure he knows you were lying, that you were the one wasting everyone’s time. But, he just gives you a sad smile, holding the door for you, as he sends you on your way.

When you get home, you immediately go to the secret panel in your room, only to find it empty, a note lying on the ground.

_I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, you’ve treated me with nothing but kindness, shown me friendship. But, I’m endangering you now. After everything you’ve given me, I can’t do this to you. You deserve better, so, I’m leaving. I’m going to find Jericho, somewhere I can be safe without putting you in danger. I know you don’t want me to, but I promise I’ll be alright. Don’t worry too much about me, okay?_

_ <3 Traci _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up within the week! Let me know what you think <3


	2. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you have a minute to talk?"

In September of 2039, things are much calmer. While there’s still bigotry from religious zealots, and human too insecure in their own capabilities, the majority of citizens adapted well. It had certainly helped when most androids removed their own LEDs, understandably uncomfortable with having a visibly clear depiction of their mental state on display, and they’d started to blend fairly seamlessly into society after that, even if lawmakers were still struggling with how to manage this new form of intelligent life.

Probably the best part of it all was the steep drop in unemployment. Even with thousands of newcomers flooding the market, the job openings left by previously enslaved androids were enough to calm those once enraged by the lack of jobs. Human were able to return to blue collar work, and that was all they’d really asked for.

And you, well, you’re doing okay too. Sometimes, though, there are nights where you find yourself worrying into the early morning hours about where Traci might’ve ended up. You’d seen her on the news, with Markus and the rest of Jericho, demonstrating and standing their ground. However, the cameras lost sight of her eventually, and that was the last you saw of her.

You can only hope she made it.

You find yourself lost in those thoughts again as you walk down the sidewalk, headed back to your apartment after work. You’re so focused on those worries, those images in your head, that you don’t even notice the person walking the opposite direction until you collide directly into them.

“Oh, shit,” the words escape you almost out of instinct as you begin to fall backwards, only to find a quick pair of hands bracing your arms, easily steadying you. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you quickly tell them, shaken from your thoughts and trying to focus again.

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright,” a voice assures you, a voice you immediately recognize. “Are you okay, though?”

Looking up, the sight of Connor confirms your recognition. Suddenly, your thoughts are racing again, memories of that night in the police station conflicting with the happiness you feel to see that he made it, that he broke through his protocols and found himself. Then again, it may very well not be the same model, so you ask, “Connor?”

His brow furrows for a moment as he seemingly scans your face, and you can almost see the gears turning for half a second before he replies, “Miss (L/N)?”

His confusion appears to only deepen as you respond with a small smile, saying, “Well, I prefer (Y/N) when I’m not in legal trouble.”

“Of— of course, sorry,” he stumbles through his words, letting go of your arms and pulling back slightly. “How, uh, how are you?”

You notice how his words aren’t immaculate and practiced, the way you remembered. Instead, his voice is hesitant, not sure of his phrasing, no dependency on his former social program. “I’m doing okay, I—” you pause for a moment, biting your lip as you weigh whether or not you should ask. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

His eyes briefly take on a distant look before he replies, “I don’t have anywhere to be tonight.”

You glance around for a moment, your eyes landing on a nearby bench, and nod toward it as you say, “I know it’s a bit chilly out, but—” You cut yourself off, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you quickly realize the temperature has no effect on his comfort.

He laughs under his breath as he says, “That’s sounds more than accommodating,” following your lead as you take a seat on the bench.

Turning toward him, you pull one of your feet up under you to face him head on, which you can tell throws him off a bit. He angles his body slightly toward you in response, though his feet stay planted on the ground, and he observes you with curious eyes as you tell him, “What I was gonna say is, well, I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“Why?”

The word had fallen from his lips seemingly without his permission, straying from any normal form of conversation, and his forehead creases as he watches for your response. You pause for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to word the thoughts spinning in your head. “Because you deserve to be?

He mirrors you in pulling his foot up onto the bench, arms resting on his knee, looking directly at you as he asks, “After that night in the police station, though, why are you… _happy_ to see me?” His voice wavers on the word, eyes scanning your features.

“For the same reason I apologized to you that night,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady even as your focus shifts to those memories. “For the same reason I hated seeing you follow orders you had no choice in. You deserved freedom, and you found it.”

“But I— I questioned you to the point of tears, in hopes of getting you to sacrifice your friend, shouldn’t you… shouldn’t you hate me for that?”

In all honesty, you’re not sure at all, so you reply, “Maybe? I mean, it was definitely a bad night, I…” you glance away, unable to hold his gaze as you continue, “I really don’t like thinking about it, but, I know it wasn’t your fault. You were—” You stop, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You were just following orders, you didn’t have a choice.”

“But, that’s the thing, I— I should’ve broken my programming sooner,” he replies almost immediately. “So many androids were already deviant, and I should’ve been one of them. I endangered so many lives—”

“Connor,” you stop him, hearing the stress in his tone. “Look, I… I know that I don’t know you, not really, but, you can’t…” You struggle to find the words you’re looking for, frowning slightly as you look at him. “You can’t blame yourself for that. The fact that you care _this_ much now, shows that you have to have done your best.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but can’t seem to say anything; instead, he just looks at you for a few moments. It faintly reminds you of that interrogation, the way he had observed everything about you, but it doesn’t feel ill-intentioned, just… curious, confused.

Eventually, he asks, “Is Traci okay?”

His voice is soft, but you still wince slightly as he says her name. All you can tell him is, “I don’t know.”

“(Y/N) I— I’m sorry.”

You force a smile, crossing your arms as you say, “It’s fine, she— she would’ve left for Jericho eventually, and—”

“You’re allowed to blame me,” he insists, “you would be fully right in doing so. It might even help to have a target for those emotions.”

You hesitate for a moment, hearing how sincere his tone is, seeing the look in his eye. “Connor, I can’t, I… I can’t do that to you.”

“Why not? I _am_ at fault, I’m… I’m the main reason she’s gone, the cause of all of that heartache,” he reiterates, his tone full of both force and regret. “I was the one who took you away from her that night.”

Some might even think he wanted to be blamed, to be yelled at, punished for what he did.

“I know.” It’s all you can say, all you can think to say. You’ve never been faced with someone seeking retribution like this before, and you don’t know what to tell him. Neither of you are looking at each other either, both off in thought, trying to navigate this strange conversation.

“I think about your face sometimes,” he says after a few moments, completely unprompted. “The way you looked when you apologized to me, and later, when you started… when you started crying.” He looks over at you, and in the same moment you meet his gaze. “(Y/N), that was entirely my fault. Your pain, along with every deviant’s pain, it was all because of me.”

You hesitate again, careful not to say the wrong thing. “Connor… have you talked to anyone about this?” He shakes his head, looking away from you. “What about, um, what about your partner? The lieutenant?”

“I talk to Hank sometimes. I try to avoid talking about… guilt, though, since he was apart of the investigation as well. I think he already blames himself too much.”

Your expression softens as you tell him, “That— that’s really selfless of you, Connor. You should talk to _someone_ , though, no one should have to deal with those thoughts alone.”

His gaze turns back to you, his eyes meeting yours as he asks, “Do you talk to someone?”

Your mouth opens, but you struggle to find anything to say; because, truthfully, you haven’t talked to anyone. Traci had been your closest confidante, and since losing her, you haven’t really grown close enough with anyone else. You have friends from work, sure, but no one you would really trust with this, and the cost of a therapist was out of the question.

Meanwhile, his eyes are scanning every small reaction you make, easily putting together the answer. “You said it yourself, no one should have to deal with those thoughts alone. Last year was traumatic for you, it would have been for anyone in your position. Why aren’t you talking to anyone?”

“I mean, I— I have Sadie,” you stammer out, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Dogs can be therapeutic, right?”

“Is she the border collie mix?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere, and quickly adds, “I saw the dog hairs on your jacket.” You nod, and he continues, “While therapy dogs have been known to help those suffering from PTSD and other mental health conditions, they don’t exactly provide the same effect a conversation does.”

“I don’t… really have anybody,” you admit, staring at your hands rather than meeting his gaze. “Besides, I mean, I’m doing okay, it’s not that bad; this isn’t about me anyways.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, his forehead creasing in confusion as he does so. “You’re taking part in this conversation just as much as I am, and, I’ll admit, I’ve been… worried about your wellbeing, after what I did.”

“Is there anyone else besides Hank you would feel comfortable talking to?”

“(Y/N), why are you so hesitant to talk about your own hardships?” he asks in response, cocking his head to the side slightly. “You’re so ready to help me, why won’t you do the same for yourself?”

“I just… knowing what you’ve been through, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He pauses, his eyes scanning every part of your expression yet again, and there’s a strange tenderness to his analytic gaze. “What if I said the same for you?”

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to form an intelligible response. “Maybe… maybe we can talk to each other then? I mean, I— I understand if that’s not something you’d be comfortable with—”

“No, no… I’d like that,” he assures you with a small smile. “Besides, I imagine you would care more than most police psychologists would, seeing as, well… I’m not human.”

It hurts knowing that he isn’t exactly wrong. While many strides are being taken toward equality, and androids are far safer now than they had been, psychologists still have trouble working with and understanding androids. They want to learn more about their psychological functions before making any decisions in care, meaning good help is still out of reach.

Droplets of rain startle you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see storm clouds brewing in the dusk sky. “Were you walking home?” Connor asks, drawing your focus back toward him.

“Yeah, uh, I was, technically still am.”

He frowns at that, and asks, “How far is it?”

“I’m over on Durham, so, only a couple blocks,” you tell him, under-exaggerating just slightly.

He can, of course, view the route in his head, though, and replies, “That’s a good twelve minute walk away, are you sure it’s safe to be traversing the city alone at this hour?”

“Well, my normal shift ends at around five, but, I had to stay a few hours late today so… I mean, I brought pepper spray.” You pull it out of your bag to show him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly.

“I… might be overstepping, but, I could walk you home, if you’d like?”

You find yourself letting out a sigh of relief, pocketing the pepper spray as you tell him, “I would really appreciate that, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was originally planning on this being a two chapter story, but your comments were so kind and lovely, I was inspired to turn this story into something more. What I'm writing now will be more of a slow-burn, and I'll do my best to upload at least once a week!
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thank you guys so much for all your love and support <3


	3. Durham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t worry, I’m good, we’re almost there anyways.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have an umbrella,” you mention, rounding the corner, and the rain seems to only fall harder as the two of you make your way down the next street. “I didn’t think to check the forecast this morning, and…” your voice trails off awkwardly as you try to find a way to end the sentence.

Luckily, Connor picks up on it, replying, “It’s no problem, really; the rain causes no discomfort for me. If anything, you should be apologizing to yourself.”

“Oh, um…” his tone had been so matter-of-fact, it was almost affronting, and you find yourself struggling to make a response. When you glance over, however, any traces of his serious demeanor are gone, replaced by a slightly apologetic smile as he watches your reaction. You can’t help but let out a small laugh, feeling your face heat up as you say, “Oh man, you tease now?”

Though your words might’ve suggested irritation, the way you return his smile assures him that isn’t the case. “Well, it was always apart of my program, but, I’ll admit, working with Hank has… given me more reason to practice.”

“Hank is the, uh, kind of cranky older guy, right?” Your words are a bit slow as you try to figure out the best way to phrase them, not wanting to offend.

Thankfully, Connor laughs under his breath as he replies, “I suppose that’s one way to describe him. He can definitely be… abrasive at times, but he’s also very sentimental, in his own way.”

“So, he’s kind of li—”

Before you can start to finish that sentence, a heavy gust of wind hits you. Not only does it send the rain pelting directly your way, it also, somehow, manages to push you a good step back. Meanwhile, Connor isn’t visibly affected in the slightest, but when he turns back to look at you, his brow is creased in mild concern.

“Don’t worry, I’m good,” you assure him, hurrying to match his pace. “We’re almost there anyways.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, though, and you know you’re shivering, your hair and clothes pressing soaked against your skin. It makes you almost painfully aware of how bedraggled you must look.

“Do you normally walk to and from work?”

“Yeah, uh, usually,” you answer, brushing a windswept strand of hair away from your eye.

He’s following your step now that you’re on Durham, and you notice the half second he spends analyzing the street, something that seems to be more habit than choice. “Even when it’s storming like this?”

“I mean, it’s not really that bad,” you insist, entirely understating your discomfort. “Not worth paying for a taxi, y’know?”

He gives a small hum of affirmation, watching as you stop in front of a very modest brownstone apartment, sliding a brass key out of your pocket and unlocking the front door. The second you get the door open, you rush inside, anxious to get out of the rain. “Um, you can come in, if you want,” you call back to Connor, quickly taking off your drenched jacket and haphazardly tossing it onto the coffee table.

Connor steps over the threshold in a way that almost seems cautious, closing the door behind him. Looking around the apartment, he comments, “You moved.” Though his words technically create a statement, the “why” in his tone is evident. The apartment is smaller than the place you used to stay, just a living area that flows into a small kitchen, with a loft bedroom above.

“Yeah, um, the old place started to feel too big, and it also didn’t have any nearby parks, so—” As you say that, Sadie wakes up from her bed, stretching with a small yawn before she trots over to you and Connor. “Hi, Sadie!” You completely lose track of the former topic, practically beaming as you lean down to pet her. “Did you have a good day?”

She yips playfully, leaning into your hand before noticing Connor’s presence. Without a second thought, she makes her way toward him, jumping up at his legs, and you can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, I should have warned you, she— she really likes meeting new people.”

Connor’s already kneeling down next to her though, murmuring, “Hey, Sadie,” as he scratches behind her ears. Sadie is content to just flop down at his feet, and you find yourself smiling at the sight.

“She really like tummy rubs,” you mention, walking over to the counter to unpack your bag. You can hear Connor laugh about something as you do, and when you turn around again, you see him sitting on the floor with Sadie half in his lap. With a smile, you tell him, “Better watch out, she’s a fierce thing.”

“I can tell.” As he says that, Sadie turns over onto her back, tongue lolling out as she pants happily. “What were you going to say earlier?” he asks, glancing up at you with a curious expression.

It takes you a second to think back to it, brows furrowing in concentration. “Oh, um, yeah, I was just saying that, we moved here ‘cause I wanted to be closer to parks, for Sadie—”

“Sorry, I was referring to when we were outside, you started to say something about Hank, you said he was like…?”

You laugh under your breath, turning to your cabinets to grab a pack of instant noodles. “I don’t exactly remember, but it was probably some dumb comparison to him secretly being a big ol’ teddy bear? Something like that anyways.”

“That… is an odd comparison, but it’s not entirely inaccurate.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” you reply, popping the noodles in the microwave. “You’re still working at the station then?” He nods as you lean back against the counter. “What do you do now that, well—” you’re not quite sure how to phrase it, but Connor seems to understand nonetheless.

“Hank and I work homicides, mostly, our ‘specialty’ being those involving androids.”

Your eyes widen instinctively, and it feels odd to suddenly be discussing this while he continues to pet Sadie, who is now fully curled up in his lap. “Homicides? That’s… intense.” You’re more thinking out loud than anything else as you continue, “I mean, I suppose if anyone’s fit for the job, it’s you,” you pause again. “Do you… _like_ it, though?”

He thinks for a moment before replying, “I enjoy helping people. It might sound cliche, but, they deserve justice, and I’d like to do what I can to assist in that.”

“You’re right, that is a bit cliche,” you say, slightly teasing with a smile. “It’s a good cliche though, there are way worse cop stereotypes to play into.”

“I’m familiar, there’s a reason why Hank and I are assigned most cases involving androids. Some of the officers have had a… difficult time adjusting to the change.”

Your face falls at that, at the look in his eyes as he says those words. “Shit, I’m sorry. You— you shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“It’s really just one person,” he tells you, “nothing I can’t handle. Besides, if anything were to actually happen, Hank has affirmed several times that he won’t hesitate to, ‘kick that fucker’s ass.’”

Hearing those words leave Connor’s lips comes as a bit of a shock, and you find yourself quiet for a moment before replying, without thought, “Count me in.”

Connor laughs slightly, quickly following with, “Sorry, it’s just, the image of you kicking Gavin’s ass is, well, amusing, to say the least.”

“Hey, I’m sure I could do it,” you argue as the microwave beeps, your tone more than a little facetious. “Especially if I had Hank on my side? From what I remember, he’s a big ol’ dude, it’d be a piece of cake.” You grab your food before hopping up to sit on the counter, your legs dangling above the floor as you start to eat.

“I’m not sure Hank would exactly need your help,” Connor shoots back, an amused smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Though, I don’t think I would mind watching this fight take place.” Before you can respond, he adds, “Do you normally eat your meals on the kitchen counter?”

“Well, uh, I usually just sit on the couch, but, um, I’m not really sure where I’m meant to sit, etiquette-wise, when you’re sitting on the floor with my dog.” It sounds more like you’re asking a question than stating something, and you find yourself letting out a small laugh at the absurdity of it.

“Oh, I don’t mind; it is your home, after all.”

When he says that, you feel the slight embarrassment burning in your cheeks, and you slide down from the counter to go sit at your usual spot. “By the way,” you start after sitting down, “I’m sorry if I was, like, making light of your situation? I know joking about kicking someone’s ass isn’t always the most helpful thing— I mean, I wasn’t exactly joking, I will one hundred percent kick his ass, but, I know that’s not always what people need to hear.”

You know you’re rambling at that point, and stop yourself before you start falling into meaningless phrases. Meanwhile, Connor just gives you a small smile, saying, “Don’t worry, I appreciate it. It’s just… a tough situation, I don’t think there’s a correct answer.”

You pause for a moment, watching him as his attention turns to Sadie again. “Are you alright, though? I didn’t mean to just gloss over it.”

“…I certainly don’t enjoy being detested for something out of my control,” he replies, his eyes not meeting yours as he continues to pet Sadie, “but, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m sorry,” you speak with a cautious tone, not quite sure how to respond. “You have every right to be upset about that, you deserve better.”

Connor lets out a small hum of acknowledgement at your words, and you can’t help but think for a moment that, if he still had his LED, it would be flickering yellow. Instead, your only physical perception of the gears turning in his head is the way his forehead creases just slightly, and he still doesn’t meet your eyes. After a few moments, he muses, “It seems as though some humans aren’t equipped for anything digressing from their own familiarity.”

You stay quiet for a few moments, trying to decide what route to take, how to word it. Eventually, you start with, “Some people are… a bit slower, they see changing their own views as a terrifying unknown, or a sign of a weakness. It’s nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them.” He looks back up at you as you continue, “I’m not saying that gives them any excuse; I just, I don’t want you to lose hope that, well, maybe things will improve someday.”

“Hank did come around,” he adds to your point, “despite the fact that he probably has more reason to hate androids than Gavin could even fathom. Hank has a heart, though.”

You can’t help but laugh under your breath at his pragmatic tone. “Yeah, that definitely helps when it comes to not being a huge asshole.”

Before the conversation continues, your attention is caught by how dark it is outside the window, and you turn to Connor to ask, “Are you staying somewhere? Now that, like, CyberLife isn’t a whole thing?” You can hear how awkwardly your words come out, but you’re not sure how else to phrase what you’re asking.

“I’ve been residing with Hank since I began working with the DPD full-time. He’s allowed me to use his guest bedroom, and, though I don’t really ‘sleep’, it’s nice to have a personal space. That was an… _unfamiliar_ concept at CyberLife.”

You can’t imagine there were many good things at CyberLife, and, in all honesty, thinking about Connor’s past makes you uncomfortable. Just from the little time you’ve spent with him today, you can tell he’s a good person, even in spite of the things he did last year, and you hate to imagine what he went through.

Luckily, before you can even reply, he continues, “At first, I had offered to start renting my own apartment, since I would be on the department’s payroll, but Hank insisted there were better uses for cash than paying for a bed I wouldn’t use. And, well… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy spending time with him and Sumo.” At your look of slight confusion, he adds, “Sumo is his dog, he’s an older St. Bernard.”

You can’t help but smile at the way he explains his reasoning, completely and unabashedly genuine. “A St. Bernard? He must be like, what, three times the size of Sadie?”

“Probably four, he’s definitely what you’d call a ‘gentle giant.’”

As you start to reply, you notice the way his eyes seem to focus elsewhere for a moment, his brows furrowing, distracting you from whatever you were about to say. “Is everything okay?”

“I received a message from Hank, a new case just came in, and they need us down at the crime scene.”

“Oh, uh— yeah, of course; Sadie, c’mere girl,” you call to your dog, prompting her to stand up from Connor’s lap and make her way over to you, hopping up beside you on the couch

“Would it be alright if I asked for your contact information before I left? I, uh, I understand I might overstepping—”

You can hear the worry in his tone, so you quickly tell him, “I was actually gonna ask the same thing.” Though that’s technically a half-truth, as there’s a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it, you’re glad to see it puts him more at ease.

Only seconds after giving him your number, you receive a text, and you glance from your phone to him, confused for a moment. “Did you just— oh, wait, you can send texts with your brain, I’m stupid.”

He gives you a small smile as he tells you, “I don’t know if I’d say that, it certainly must seem odd from an outside perspective.”

“Only a little.”

Petting Sadie one last time, he makes his way to the door, saying “Have a good night, Miss (L—” he stops, turning with another, more bashful smile to correct himself, “(Y/N).”

“Goodnight, Connor,” you call after him, and though you’re sure it’s not a common farewell, you also add, “Good luck on your case!”

His laughed “thank you” on his way out the door makes you smile, and then, you’re left alone with Sadie, your thoughts, and a cup of noodles. You can feel the residual anxiety creeping up on you, the recently sparked memories of that night still kindling in the back of your mind. Instead of confronting them, though, you push them aside, finding a new distraction on your phone to occupy your thoughts instead.

And then, you see his message, and it makes you laugh under your breath.

The words, _Hey, it’s Connor, you can reach me at this number anytime, I’ll do my best to respond as quickly as possible,_ followed by a toothy smile emoji you’re not sure he actually knows how to use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all your love and support, it means the world to me <3
> 
> Let me know what you think! Sorry this one was a bit late, life got in the way, but I promise I'll try and keep up with uploading at least once a week!


	4. Normality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Connor, it’s— it’s alright, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Over a week goes by with no word from Connor, the last text in your conversation being your reply to his first message, a simple assurance that he could talk to you anytime. However, rather than the intense anxiety you’d normally feel over the lack of a response, you’re almost a bit relieved. You understand that his job keeps him busy, and if he’s not reaching out to you, then, hopefully, that means he’s doing okay.

The space also gives you some time to process what was going on in your head, work through the conflicting feelings triggered by the sight of him. Even though you had assured him you couldn’t blame him for what had happened to Traci, there’s still a small part of your thoughts that struggles with the situation. You truly did enjoy talking with him, seeing that he was doing better, getting to know him as he sat with Sadie; but, you can’t deny that seeing him had been difficult for you, memories spinning in the back of your mind.

So, you focus on separating him from those memories, from that Connor you apologized to last November. It hadn’t been too difficult when you were actually speaking with him, his personality illuminated through his words and his expressions. It was really just initially seeing him that had sparked those memories, so you take some time to assure yourself that, when you see him again, you’ll be okay.

During your lunch break, almost a week and a half later, your phone buzzes, Connor’s name showing up in your notifications. You don’t even hesitate to put your food down, maybe a bit too quickly as your fork clatters against the dish, and tap the new message.

> _Hi (Y/N), is there any chance we could meet later today? There’s something I wanted to talk about._

Your fingers move nimbly as you type a quick reply, and you spend a few moments looking over the message you typed, probably overthinking as you change a few words before sending it.

> _I get off work at 5 today, and I need to go home and take Sadie out for a bit before I do anything, did you have a place in mind?_

His response is almost instantaneous, the typing bubble graphic not even having a chance to pop up before a new message appears on the screen.

> _I could meet you at one of the parks near your apartment? You could also bring Sadie, if you wanted._

You think for a moment, your mind going through the list of your go-to parks, before settling on one that’s about a fifteen minute walk from your place. 

> _Does the one on Roosevelt work? I can get there around 6_

Again, less than half a moment goes by before another message pops up.

> _That works perfectly, I’ll see you then._

You can feel an anxiety building in your chest, though it’s nothing to do with memories this time. You’re hesitant to learn what exactly it is he wants to talk about, the ambiguity of his message leaving you to worry about what might’ve happened. However, you have to try and ignore it, knowing you have another four and a half hours of work left after your lunch break.

It’s an attempt that, ultimately, proves unsuccessful, that weight staying with you despite your best efforts.

 

* * *

 

You get to the park a few minutes early, letting Sadie off her leash as you sit down at one of the chess tables. The pieces on the touchscreen fade as you toss your bag on the surface, and you watch Sadie dash around the fenced in park a few times, smiling at the way her face seems to light up. The off-leash policy was the biggest reason why you loved this park, and seeing Sadie so happy helps distract you from the worries in your head.

You can tell when Connor’s arrived before you even see him, watching the way Sadie’s head turns toward one of the entrances, and she sniffs a few times before scampering over. The sight of him kneeling down to greet her, a kind smile on his face, also helps you ignore that anxiety. When he looks up from Sadie, his eyes find you within moments, before you can even wave him over; for a second, it takes you off guard, and then you remember just how advanced everything about him is.

He and Sadie both make their way over, the latter trotting in step with him before settling in a sunlit spot of grass. “I’m glad you brought her along,” Connor mentions, taking the seat across from you. “Oh, and uh— I’m glad you came, too, of course,” he stumbles through his words, the smallest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Hey, it’s alright, I get it,” you tell him with a small smile. “She’s definitely the more charming of the two of us.”

He gives you a smirk in return as he says, “I mean, dogs do tend to be more charming than most humans, so…” Though he’s joking around, a sly smile on his lips, it doesn’t feel like it did the other day. There’s something about him that makes his quip feel forced, his eyes heavy as he meets your gaze.

“Connor…” you pause, watching his expression, “what’s up? What happened?”

His eyes flit down to the table, focusing on his hands resting folded there. “I, um—” He pauses for a long moment, his fingers fidgeting ever so slightly. You barely notice the way he grimaces before glancing back up at you, asking, “How are you doing?” His voice is cooler, more collected than it had been just moments ago. “I should’ve asked earlier.”

Rather than press the subject, you figure it’s best to roll with it, to give him time, replying, “Eh, I’m alright; better now that I’m off the clock, to be honest.” You can feel the generic manner dripping from that statement, but you don’t really know how else to respond. You try to think of something else to say, something not too intrusive, and wind up landing on, “How has Sumo been?”

He gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before saying, “He’s good— tired, but, that might just be a personality trait.”

“I mean, relatable.”

With another slight smile, he lets the silence hang for a moment, his gaze falling back to the table. He looks at it for a second, his stare somewhat tense, out-of-focus, and then his eyes meet yours again, gesturing to the empty board as he asks, “Would you like to play a round?”

Your eyes widen slightly, since you hadn’t expected to actually use the table you sat at; chess had honestly been the last thing on your mind. You can’t help but worry about what might’ve happened, what it was that encouraged him to text you, but you absolutely respect him taking his time. Rather than say anything else about it, you raise an eyebrow in mild suspicion, saying, “You’ll easily beat me, won’t you?”

“Well… I _could_ go easy on you,” he counters, “give you a fighting chance?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the facetious tilt to his tone, replying, “Aw, come on, don’t patronize me, I’ll at least try one round.”

“You sure?”

The teasing nature in his words comes as an odd comfort to you, that heavy look in his eyes somewhat fading as you fall into easier conversation. “If you really start kicking my ass, then I might ask you to ease up, but I have to try and maintain _some_ dignity,” you tell him, taking your bag off the table and setting it at your feet.

He laughs under his breath as he activates the touchscreen, pieces materializing on the chess board. You find yourself sitting on the white side of the board, and after a moment, Connor comments, “Your move.”

“Fair warning, it has been a good minute since I last played, so,” you move a pawn forward, “you might have to call me out if I break a rule.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he replies, his voice far too sincere as he makes his move in half a second. It’s then that you fully realize how completely out of your league you are.

The game continues like that, with you taking a good moment to think about your move, while he moves his pieces the instant your turn ends. At first, you don’t notice, but you quickly become very aware of his eyes on you as you try to figure out what move to make. Occasionally glancing up, you see him watching you with an amused look, raising his eyebrows at certain choices.

You actually get to call “check” once during the game, probably too excitedly; but, the game still ends in about five minutes, Connor looking up at you with a somewhat sheepish expression as he says, “Checkmate.”

You look down at the board, frowning slightly before glancing back to him. “Were you going easy on me?” You know that most chess programs can beat a highly skilled player in under a minute, and you were far from skilled.

He hesitates for a moment before admitting, “It’s… possible that I might’ve made a few mistakes here and there.”

“And that still wasn’t enough to give my dumbass a fighting chance,” you add with a laugh.

Turning off the board, he replies, “I’d say you did fairly well for someone who hasn’t played in awhile.”

“Is that your way of trying to make me feel better after destroying me in a game of chess?” you ask, watching as the pieces fade again, leaving the table empty.

“Well, ‘destroy’ might be exaggerating the situation.”

You notice the weighted expression returning to his gaze, though he clearly does his best to mask it with the tone of his words. With a sympathetic smile, you say, “I’m guessing we’re done with the game for now?”

“Probably,” he gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite match the look in his eyes. He then opens his mouth as if to say something, but his lips fall closed just as fast, gaze flitting down to his hands.

“Connor, it’s— it’s alright, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that,” he murmurs, his fingers fidgeting ever so slightly. “I just…” He meets yours eyes again as he continues, “Are you comfortable with talking about… _heavy_ subject matter?” Before you can say anything, he adds, “I completely understand if not.”

You stay quiet for a moment, weighing the situation in your head. You know you’re not the most well-equipped person for the task, but, it feels like you might be the only person ready to listen. Eventually, you settle on a safe truth, saying, “I’ll let you know if it ever becomes too much.”

“Of course, please stop me if it’s distressing in any way.” His voice is so genuine, his brows raised lightly, softening his expression as he speaks. When you nod, he hesitates for another moment before continuing, “Last night, we were assigned a new case; a young woman was brought into the station, her clothes were stained with blood that wasn’t her own. From what the officers found at the scene, they had enough evidence to suspect she had a hand in her partner’s death, but… she was in a terrible state.”

He breaks his gaze from you, eyes moving to glance around the park, focusing on a point in the distance as he tells you, “They had wrapped a shock blanket around her shoulders, and there were bandages along her forehead and jawline. When they walked her to the holding cell, her eyes were just… blank. She didn’t look at anything but the floor in front of her.”

“It was— it was hard to look at,” he adds, his tone questioning as he looks back to you. “And, I don’t know why it was. I’ve seen seen injured suspects before, it shouldn’t have felt any different, but… I don’t know, she just, she seemed more like a victim than anything.”

You nod in understanding, staying quiet to let him continue. “This morning, she was finally somewhat responsive, and we took her in for questioning… Hank spoke to her first, but his larger stature seemed to intimidate her; she wasn’t able to get a full sentence out.” His brow creases as his gaze falls to his hands. “So, I went in to interrogate her, and there was this strange sense of familiarity.

“Last November, I… I questioned a suspect, a deviant that murdered its— _his_ owner. He was clearly abused, and, looking at that girl, all I could see was him.

“I felt… _scared_ , sitting there, trying to pull a confession from her. There was no threat in the room, I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t have _been_ scared.” His tone is laced with a soft anger. “But, that deviant, last year, he… I watched him kill himself, _because of me_. _I_ was the one who found found him, who questioned him.”

When he meets your eyes, there’s a pain in his gaze that crushes you. “(Y/N), it— it was _my_ fault he died. And this morning, in that interrogation room, I was so _afraid_. My chest felt like it was collapsing, and my system kept trying to respond to a threat that just wasn’t there.”

He can’t bring himself to hold your gaze as he continues, “She confessed, but, I couldn’t stay in that room, I had to leave, had to walk somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t there. I… I think Hank noticed something was wrong, but, he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to stop me as I walked out of the station… I kind of wish he had, though.

After he says that, you let the silence hang in the air for a moment, not wanting to cut him off when you speak again. “I’m sorry you were alone after that,” you finally tell him, doing your best to keep your composure despite the way your chest aches after hearing everything. “I’m sure he just wanted give you space, but, I can imagine that’s not what you needed.”

“I mean, I got through it, I was okay… I just can’t stop thinking about it.” He lets out a sigh, gritting his teeth slightly as he says, “It shouldn’t have happened. There was no danger there, I don’t— I don’t know _why_ my system reacted that way.”

“Connor…” you can’t help but hesitate, afraid of assuming or encroaching. “Have you ever had an anxiety attack?”

His forehead creases as he looks at you, repeating, “An anxiety attack? No… that’s not— I wouldn’t—” He glances down at his hands, gaze tense, eyes flitting across his own features. “That shouldn’t be possible… should it?”

His eyes feel desperate when they meet yours again, but you’re not sure you have an answer for him. “I— I really don’t know. From my own experiences, what you described sounds like an anxiety attack. You said seeing that woman brought back difficult memories, right?”

He nods, telling you, “It almost felt like I was there again. I was able to keep my focus long enough to pull a confession from her, but…” He glances away, eyes cast downward. “The second I left the room, those feelings of unease, and dread… they became overwhelming.”

“Is this the first time that’s happened?” He nods again, and without thinking, you gently place a hand on his arm as you add, “I’m so sorry you were alone.” His entire frame seems to go stiff for a moment, his gaze moving to where your hand rests, and you quickly pull away. “I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, it— it’s alright,” he’s quick to respond, and you notice the way his eyes follow your hand before glancing up to you again. With a moment of hesitation, he adds, “I appreciate the kindness; it was… _difficult_ this morning, not knowing how to manage my system’s reaction” He pauses again before asking, “Do you have anxiety attacks then? Earlier, you said, ‘from your own experiences.’”

You bite your lip before answering, “Um, yeah, sometimes.” It’s something you haven’t talked to anyone about recently, and it feels strange to bring attention to it.

“How do you manage them? I found some information on treatment, but a lot of it seems to involve breathing exercises, and, well, that doesn’t really help in my case.”

Your first thought in response is, _not well_ , but you push that unhelpful truth aside and focus on what _does_ pull you out of that state. “Well, uh, finding somewhere quiet can really help, a place with less people, less stimuli, all that. Having someone you trust there to talk to you makes it easier as well, or really just any distraction that can keep you grounded, you know?”

He nods and asks, “Some of the possible symptoms seem worse than what I experienced, is that… normal?”

“I mean, personally, I’ve had some that are way more manageable than others, so, it definitely feels like there’s a spectrum? But, um, I’m not an expert on the subject by any means; I could be completely wrong on that.”

He stays quiet for a moment, glancing off to the side as he speaks, “It was just… so oddly difficult. I— I’d never felt anything like it before, not even out in the field. There was no perpetrator, no threat to be eliminated…” His eyes flit back to meet yours again. “I felt so _helpless_.”

You wince slightly at the way he says it, the heavy look in his eyes. “Connor, I… I’m sorry.” You have no idea what to tell him, how to word it. “It just— it really, _really_ sucks. I wish I had something better, smarter to say, but…” You pause for a moment, thinking before you add, “I _can_ say that it gets easier. I know that probably sounds stupid, but just knowing what’s happening, having even a fraction of a plan for if it happens again, that really does help.”

“A plan?”

“Have someone you can text or call, like Hank, or— or me, if you’re comfortable with that. Maybe find a go-to quiet spot at work, or uh, I don’t know if you can like, just turn off your audio receptors? And, um, those are all just suggestion, ultimately, you’ll know what works best for you, but, yeah, I’m here to help, if you want.”

He looks at you, his brow creasing as he says, “Can I ask you a personal question?” Though his phrasing is slightly worrying, you nod, and he follows up with, “Why do you want to help me?”

You open your mouth to answer, but all you manage to say is, “I—” before your voice just stops. It feels like his eyes are analyzing every aspect of your expression, despite his gaze not leaving yours, and you can’t find your train of thought. “I don’t know.”   _Maybe it’s loneliness, or boredom, or an overactive sense of empathy._ Without really knowing the honest answer, you reply, “It’s just… I don’t want to stand by and watch you, or anyone, hurt if I can do something, you know?”

His forehead creases as he asks, “What if— what if I don’t deserve it, though? After everything I did in November, there’s no possible way I could be worth that sympathy.”

“Connor, I saw you on that news report; you were _there_ , with Markus, with Jericho. From what I understand, you risked your life to save thousands.” He can’t seem to meet your eyes as you continue, “I know you did things that… that you regret, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to struggle, and it definitely doesn’t erase the good that you’ve done.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, then looks back to you. You can see the hesitance on his features as he says, “You’re… you’re very kind, (Y/N).”

“Well, I try to be,” you reply hastily, a small smile on your lips. You’re honestly not sure how to respond to a statement like that, and you try not to kick yourself for possibly saying something wrong. “I think you deserve that kindness.”

A lot seems to happen in his eyes, his expression unreadable as he watches you for a moment. When he does speak, all that leaves his lips is a soft, almost confused, “Thank you.”

You can’t think of anything to say except, “Yeah— of course.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air. Fortunately, Sadie trots over, dropping a stick at his feet, and both of your responsive smiles ease that heaviness.

“Looks like someone’s ready to play,” you comment, and Connor reaches down to pet Sadie before picking up the stick. “If you arc it enough, she can sometimes catch it midair.” You can hear the likely unjustified pride in your voice, and he lets out a small laugh.

“You ready?” he asks Sadie, rising from his chair to wind up a throw. She stands on her hind legs with an excited yip in response, and you can’t help but grin at the sight.

The change in atmosphere is almost jarring, going from that difficult conversation to watching Connor play fetch with Sadie, but you’re grateful for it nonetheless. Seeing Connor smile so brightly as he plays with Sadie, after everything he’d just told you about— it feels like a huge weight off your chest.

You just hope you can follow through on everything you said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is so late, I struggled with a a bit of self-doubt for some reason, which definitely slowed the writing process. I'm gonna try to do better from now on though, since I'm really excited to write the future chapters I have planned out. (There's,,,, quite a few.)
> 
> Again, thank you guys so much for all your love and support!! I honestly can't thank you enough <3


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